


Appreciation

by accidentalapostate



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Elven Glory, Elves, Empress Celene - Freeform, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Gaspard - Freeform, Halamshiral, NSFW, Orlais, Smut, The Winter Palace (Dragon Age)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-30
Updated: 2016-04-30
Packaged: 2018-06-05 09:23:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6699166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/accidentalapostate/pseuds/accidentalapostate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This was a work requested in a comment by MmmCuppycakes, to whom I gifted it. :)  It is based upon a previous work I did called "Be Still," where Solas comfort's the Inquisitor Lavellan after she has some troublesome encounters at Halamshiral.</p>
<p>This story elaborates upon how the rest of the night went.  It is quite smutty, and being only the second piece of smut I have ever done, it may not be the greatest, but I hope it's readable.</p>
<p>Any comments or criticisms are welcome so long as they are respectful. </p>
<p>Enjoy!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Appreciation

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MmmCuppycakes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MmmCuppycakes/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Be Still](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6487540) by [accidentalapostate](https://archiveofourown.org/users/accidentalapostate/pseuds/accidentalapostate). 



Solas managed to restore Niamh’s confidence and willingness to trudge through the night at Halamshiral.  In fact, she considered herself to feel even more confident than before.  She wished she had not suffered physical, emotional, and sexual harassment in order to get that much needed boost, but she was not going to complain.  If the night ended in the few moments prior to her announcement in the ballroom, she might have been able to sustain the resolve.  Unfortunately, the events of the night took a turn for the worse before the Inquisitor could really even appreciate her faith in herself to not incinerate a Marquis before the peace talks concluded.

The short, unbelievably-squat-for-a-human announcer, wearing his grotesque mask and frilly, embellished doublet asked Niamh and her companions, (except for Cole, who had not wanted to be seen) to indicate precisely how they wanted to be introduced.  Niamh instructed him to announce her as  “First to the Keeper of Clan Lavellan of the Free Marches and Leader of the Inquisition.” She stepped forward to be announced, trusting her companions to give their own names appropriately 

“Accompanying Duke Gaspard,” he began haughtily, “We have Lady Lavellan, Holy Herald of Andraste, Maker’s Chosen to save Thedas.” 

_ I don’t even  _ **_believe_ ** _ in the Maker. Did he even  _ **_listen_ ** _ to what I said?  _ Niamh swallowed the lump in her throat, painted a smile on her face, and walked slowly and elegantly down the steps making her way across the dance floor.  There was no need to let a small detail, such as how she was announced destroy her mood once again.  She would forget it even happened soon enough.

As she continued to walk forward, the announcer began speaking again, “Next we have Lady Inquisitor Lavellan’s elven serving man, Solas!” 

Niamh froze in place, her whole body tensed, fists clenched.  She had to use every ounce of composure she could muster to prevent herself from crying out of rage in the middle of the ballroom. 

_ How  _ **_dare_ ** _ he?!  _ It was one thing to falsely attribute a religion to a person, but it was a whole different case entirely to deprive Solas of any rank and honor. “ _ Oh, he’s an elf! I’m just going to disregard him entirely because he can’t be anything other than a servant. There can be only one elf of high standing here today!”  _ Niamh mocked the announcer internally.

She was so overcome with anger that she could not hear the others being announced. The roaring in her ears from her blood pressure soaring drowned out the noise around her.  She also seemed to forget what she was doing and that she needed to continue moving.  She stood, locked in place like a tense statue  until she felt a hand on the small of her back.  It was Solas.  He reached where she was on the floor and gently urged her forward.  

The Inquisitor plunged back to reality, and met Solas’ gaze with her own as if to ask, “Are you okay?”  The sparkle in his eyes and the small smirk that formed at the corner of his mouth assured her that he was not as bothered by the condescension as she was. She, in fact, was livid enough for the both of them and maybe twelve other elves. She quelled the fiery rage with three deep breaths, walking forward to stand beside Gaspard and the others to be formally met by Empress Celene.

“Welcome Lady Lavellan,” the Empress said kindly, though Niamh knew she could not take Celene on her intonation, “I am sure your Keeper would be most proud of your brave actions.”  The subtle acknowledgement by the Empress did wonders to assuage the Inquisitor’s inner wrath, for which she was grateful.

After a brief speech, the Empress departed to begin peace talks and Niamh was left to her own devices.  She needed to learn the court and play this “Game” that Leliana and Josephine tried to shove down her throat.  Sadly, her patience was wearing thin and she had less than zero sense of diplomacy.  Before she could even consider delving into the scandals underlying the main  event, she needed to check on Solas. Without knowing how he was faring after the flagrant insult, she would be able to think of little else.

Once again, as she traversed the halls of Halamshiral, she was met with many a skeptical looks. Celene’s recognition did little to suppress the jeers and rude comments that she would be better serving drinks.  She even heard several of the noblemen talking about trysts they had snuck off to have with elven servant girls in their guest chambers.  _ Pathetic.  _ Niamh shook her head in disgust, continuing to walk out into the vestibule and to the wing that led to the gardens.  That is where Solas told her he would be, after all.

She saw him, leaning casually against one of the gaudy statues that lined the room, glass of wine in hand.  She took a moment to admire him in his current state, as he  _ did _ look rather dashing in formal attire.  Niamh blushed, embarrassed by her own thoughts.  He looked comfortable, almost too comfortable for an elf in the middle of a castle full of bigoted humans.  She even noticed a smile beginning to form on his lips.  He looked up and his eyes met hers, his smile coming into itself.  _ Creators he should smile more often. _ She sauntered over to him, trying to not appear too incredibly eager, lest she look like a giddy child. 

“Vhenan,” he uttered softly before raising his voice for the rest of his greeting, “I hope you’re enjoying your evening.” His whole demeanor was different, Niamh noticed.  He seemed more cheerful, and less guarded. In such a way she only glimpsed in their more intimate moments alone.  She presumed the alcohol had loosened him up slightly, just enough for him to enjoy himself but not so much that he was too inhibited.

“I can’t say I’m enjoying it nearly as much as you seem to be,” she teased  him. She was pleased to see that he laughed, genuinely and heartily.  It was a beautiful and rare sound for him. “I actually came to see how you were doing after being pegged my serving man.  I can’t believe the audacity of these noble pricks.” 

Solas closed his eyes, shook his head and grinned, “ Oh, I told them to announce me as such. It is not as if I would have been announced as anything better than ‘servant’ anyway. Though, I have to admit, I could not think of anyone better to owe fealty to, milady,” Now he was jesting. “Elven serving man, Solas, at your service.” He bowed and looked up at her with a wink. _Oh. He is clearly a bit intoxicated. Fun._   
“So long as you are being treated respectfully,” Niamh stated with a smile.  

She was relieved that she had been the only one upset by the announcements. Solas rose back up and took to leaning against the statue once more, taking a small sip of his wine, glancing at Niamh from the corner of his eye.

“I’ve not had much trouble. It is a shame I do not have the look of one of the servants or I might well be invisible,” he spoke musically his voice rising and falling at just the right points to make him hypnotizing, “I’ve kept to myself to avoid giving any of the nobles any reason to be wary of me. Otherwise, the food and drink are excellent, and the servants have been happy to fill my glass.”

“Obviously,” Niamh quipped, thoroughly adoring his slightly tipsy demeanor.  Solas chuckled, knowing full and well that she was making fun of him.

“Let me ask you something, vhenan,” Solas stated softly, “While it would win you no favors in the court to dance with an elven apostate, I would have a great deal of interest in dancing with you once our business here is finished.  What do you say?” 

The question threw Niamh off guard slightly.  She had never really danced before, other than the silly little dances she did as a child.  She had not pegged Solas as the dancing type either.  She honestly did not know what to say.  
“As long as you don’t mind my lack of coordination too badly,” she relented.  She did not like the idea of dancing in general, but for him she would.  

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The rest of the evening was an avalanche of treachery, lies, deceit, murder, venatori, and rift magic, but Niamh and her companions survived and managed to win enough court favor for Celene to believe that Duchess Florianne was the real culprit.  The Duchess was locked away, Celene kept her throne, Gaspard sentenced to death for his crimes, and Niamh? Well, she was just plain exhausted.  Between fighting agents of Tevinter and putting up with human elitist bullshit for the entirety of the night, the Inquisitor was more than ready to retire to the room she’d been given for her stay at the palace. 

For the moment, she settled for catching her breath out on the balcony.  The cool breeze and fresh air calmed her nerves almost instantaneously.  It was then that she heard a rustle of skirts from behind.  She turned around to see Lady Morrigan, smirking from the doorway.

“Well, well, well.  What have we here?” she asked playfully, “The Lady Inquisitor choosing solitude over her own celebration?  A woman after my own heart.”  

Morrigan walked up beside her to lean on the balcony, regarding her curiously.

“Being the center of attention all night really wears on a girl. Not to mention, they ran out of punch! Scandalous,” Niamh responded, trying to seem more upbeat than she felt.  She did not want Morrigan to inform the Empress that she had not enjoyed the ball. Not that she figured the enigmatic woman would have much interest in tattling on her.

Morrigan laughed before becoming more serious, “I hope it does not bother you over much that the Empress is sending me with you, as a gift for your help.”  

Niamh had to stifle a chuckle as she pictured Morrigan with a giant bow on her head.  _ Quit being a dumb ass, Nia. _ Often her mind ran off on wild tangents when she was exhausted.

“I appreciate the generosity, and would love to have your assistance.  When it comes to the freaky magic stuff, we could use all of the help we can get.” The Inquisitor mentally scolded herself for sounding so idiotic about magic.  She was a mage. She knew what she was talking about, but was too drained to waste energy on vocabulary.

Again, the other woman laughed, “‘Freaky magic stuff,’ is my specialty.” She bowed before she took her leave, adding, “I think you have a visitor.” 

Morrigan smiled knowingly as she walked back into the palace, brushing shoulders with Solas, who was coming to see Niamh. 

As soon as Morrigan was out of earshot, Niamh let out a sigh. She let her mask of resolve crumble, and she slumped over the edge of the balcony, hanging her head.  Solas came to stand close beside her and placed a sympathetic hand on her back.  

“I can’t say I’m surprised to find you out here,” he said softly. He seemed to have come down from his inebriation a bit.  Either that, or his concern for her was more powerful than the alcohol. “Especially after all you’ve gone through in such a short span of time.”

“I’m so damn tired, Solas.  Not just physically, I feel like an entire aravel rolled over my emotions.  I thought I had seen the worst of people, but I was wrong.  These people are far worse than I could have ever imagined.  I do not understand how you do it.  How you managed to face the ridicule and injustice with such grace.  I think I spent most of my energy trying to  _ not  _ immolate some of these arrogant asses.”  Niamh ranted.  

Solas listened attentively as he knew her well enough to know that she just needed to get it all out of her system.  Once she did, she just began to cry, her tears hot with frustration. He sighed and drew her into his arms, holding her as she sobbed, for the second time that night.

Niamh mistook his sigh for annoyance and looked up at him guiltily before exiting his embrace, shifting her gaze down and to the side, muttering timidly,  “I am sorry, Solas.”

“Sorry?” he asked, furrowing his brows in confusion.  He watched her shift uncomfortably where she stood, avoiding eye contact.  

“Yes. Sorry,” she answered, finally looking back up at him, “ Sorry for worrying you with my constant bellyaching.  Keeper  Istimaethoriel always scolded me for complaining. ‘No wonder the other elves avoid you Da’len.’ I’m such a- .” 

“Stop,” Solas implored, gently.  Niamh’s eyes widened, fixed upon him. “Just...stop. You have no reason to apologize.  I do not tire of you, Vhenan. It is just that there are few things that unnerve me more than seeing you hurt time and again by people who have nothing better to do.” He shook his head in frustration, but when he looked at her, his features softened, and a smirk teased the corner of his mouth.

Niamh studied him, perplexed. “What?” she asked, with a slight laugh,  putting a hand on her hip and tilting her head. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“It must be the wine,” he admitted, closing the gap between himself and his love once again, placing his hands on her shoulders, “I’m usually not so quick anger, but then again I also find myself quite protective of you, under the influence or not.” He let his hands slide from her shoulders, tracing the length of her arms until his hands met hers.  He laced his fingers between hers. “Come, before the band stops playing. Dance with me.”  
Niamh had not expected Solas to be such an able dance partner, yet there were many things she had not expected of him. Her apostate was full of surprises.  The couple danced, slowly gliding around the balcony until the band finished its very last song.

When Niamh glanced up at her partner, she blushed as he was already staring at her, almost luridly it seemed.  _ Woah.  _ Desire immediately coursed throughout her entire body, causing all of her extremities to tingle. She tried to hide the fact that a simple look had such an effect on her, though she could not keep her pale cheeks from becoming rosy.  

Solas chose that moment to lean down and softly press his lips against hers.  She deepened the kiss, reaching up and locking her arms behind his neck, a gesture which he seemed to appreciate.  She could taste the sweetness of the wine still lingering on his mouth and wanted nothing more than to drink him in. 

She was caught off guard when Solas pulled back.  He shifted his gaze from left to right in thought, and then grinned widely. “Come,” he urged, taking Niamh by the hand, and tugging her from the balcony, into the palace, and down the corridor to the last door on the right.  It was her own guest room.

Niamh smiled, understanding his intentions. Solas opened the door with his back facing it, pulling her on into her own quarters.  She slammed the door closed behind them as she entered. “So is this your nefarious plot,” she teased, “To get the distraught elven lass into bed for a tumble?”  Niamh laughed at the absurdity of the question.

So did Solas. “Hardly, emma’lath,” he explained, gesturing that she sit down on the bed.  She did so, while he continued to speak, “I have seen tonight’s events shatter your confidence.  You always manage to accomplish so much, and yet are appreciated so little.”  

Niamh had to fight the urge to break the serious mood with a comment about finding a job with better benefits.  Instead, she admired the man before her as he enthusiastically explained his behavior. He removed the hat he had worn for the duration of the ball and sat it on the dresser.  He then slowly stepped over to Niamh, kneeling on the floor in front of her, positioning himself so that one of her knees was on each side of him.  She inhaled sharply as he traced her thighs with the palms of his hands.

“Solas,” she hummed as he slid his hands up to the tops of her thighs. His thumbs brushed the juncture where her thighs met torso, applying a gentle but insistent pressure, “What are you-.”

“Shhh,” Solas cut her off, “I intend to ‘appreciate’ you - that is, if you’re interested.” He looked at her lovingly, waiting for her to respond.

“Oh. You know me, I’m always interested in some spontaneous appreciation,” Niamh consented in her usual glib manner.  Being overly serious was not in her skill set.

“Good,” Solas uttered, reaching up to kiss her, first on the lips, then just behind her left ear.  He whispered suggestions in Elven that made her skin burn hot, as he gently worked the buttons on her uniform. Niamh laughed softly in pleasure when he finally removed her top, revealing a thin cloth breast band, which he easily slid his hands under, grazing the peaks of her breasts as he slid the material up and over her head.  Niamh eyed the buttons of his coat, longingly, wanting nothing more than to feel his warm bare skin against her own. 

Solas chuckled, knowing what ‘that’ look meant. He quickly unbuttoned and removed his top, and tossed it to the side.  Niamh fixated momentarily on the delicate architecture of his abdomen.  _ That never gets old, damn.  _ She marveled briefly before returning to reality

She looked down at the slight fold of skin on her own belly, becoming instantly self-conscious.  She had been with Solas before, but something about the ridicule she faced during the ball left her feeling less than adequate. She huffed disgustedly.

Solas studied the woman before him, adamant that this self-loathing would not persist a second longer.  He leaned forward and placed a lingering kiss on the stomach she had been pondering.  He grazed his lips lightly down toward the line of her hip bone, where her breeches rested snugly. Solas relished the gasp that escaped Niamh’s throat when he began to slowly ease the bottoms down, tormenting her with playful bites along her inner thigh as he removed them completely, leaving only her smalls.

By this point, Niamh had squirmed her way into the center of the bed, so that she was lying flat on her back.  Solas had followed her, so that he too was on the bed, He once again slid his hands up her thighs, this time, letting one of his thumbs shift her smalls to the side, revealing her to him.  She moaned, as he traced the outer edges of her sex with his fingertips, just enough to make her bite her lip to keep from begging. 

Solas removed her smalls, and she lay bare before him.  She instinctively tried to close her legs, but he separated them again as he positioned himself so they hung over his  shoulders. Niamh trembled in anticipation as he placed a line of moist kisses along her lower abdomen before touching his mouth to her heat, his tongue seeking out the sensitive pearl, now swollen in arousal. 

Niamh writhed in ecstasy, forgetting every trouble and stressor from the night.  Right then, in that moment, Solas was all that mattered.  She swore, moaned, and grabbed at the bed sheets, as Solas continued to feast in her. She felt herself nearing the edge and briskly brought her right hand down to hold her lover’s head in place. Her breathing became rapid and she came, her entire body innervated by the powerful release.  “Ma serannas, Vhenan, “she rasped lackadaisically.

Solas looked up at her, beaming proudly. He inched his way upward so that he was atop her, supporting himself with his elbows.  Niamh raised her arms up to hang them around his neck, pulling herself up to kiss him tenderly, letting her tongue tease his bottom lip.  He growled huskily and deepened the kiss. 

Niamh somehow managed to roll so that she straddled him. She grinned smugly, feeling rather powerful, “Guess who’s in charge now? Just guess,” she insisted, the jest in her voice palpable. 

“You are always in charge, my heart,” Solas answered, “I do not mind it too much.  The view from down here is...fascinating.”

Niamh rolled her eyes before occupying herself with removing his breeches and smalls.  It seemed like an eternity before he was finally free of his clothing, but it was an eternity well-spent.  Solas felt her warmth as she perched atop him, positioning herself properly. He bit his lip and groaned when she enveloped him, slowly,   
He gazed up at her with admiration, not from her naked beauty (though he did appreciate that aspect of her as well); rather, he was in awe of her newfound confidence.  It had taken so very little effort on his part. He marveled, too, at his own influence over her, content knowing that he could build her up.  Perhaps one day, there would be nobody who could tear her down.

The two elves continued their sensual revelry until both came, somewhat violently as if the frustrations of the day were released.  Niamh first, clenching around Solas and bringing him over the edge immediately after.  They each lay there, breathless and spent, but euphoric all the same. When they separated, each rolling onto their backs, Solas kept hold of his love’s hand, bringing it to his mouth to place a polite kiss. He then sat up, and prepared himself to dress and retire to his own room.  
Niamh refused to release his hand.  At first, she giggled, but her smile fell away, revealing a look of terror in her viridian eyes, “Don’t go,” she pleaded, fearful that as soon as he left, the feeling of strength she had would turn into a wisp, leaving her to loathe herself once again. She did not need Solas, but she knew that she was better when she was near him. 

Solas needed no explanation for her request. He knew her fear, as he too dreaded leaving her side and losing the weightlessness she made him feel when she was around. It was not as if he actually wanted to leave anyway, just to persevere the Inquisitor's reputation.

“Ma nuvenin,” he whispered with a smile as he lay back down beside her, entwining her in his arms. Reputations be damned.


End file.
